


Take My Hand

by SpangleBangle



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Coming Out, Dance Metaphors, Dance TV shows, Established Relationship, First Dance, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Press and Tabloids, Public Display of Affection, Publicity, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 00:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14092863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpangleBangle/pseuds/SpangleBangle
Summary: When Neil and Andrew get roped into competing in a dance reality TV show for publicity after coming out, Andrew is against the idea. But maybe it's time to show the world the truth of their relationship. Words have never been his strong suit, but this might be enough.Happy (belated, oops) birthday to tycutiovevo :D





	Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tycutiovevo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tycutiovevo/gifts).



Have a weird little dancing competition ficlet! Because I have a real guilty pleasure for dance movies, this was very much inspired by the Iconique film Strictly Ballroom. The final dance sequence is based on this 'disqualification' dance shown in this clip [(x)](https://youtu.be/SZEeMP8tR1c?t=56) Unfortunately there is use of the F-slur at the start of the clip, I couldn't find clean footage without it. The dance routine starts at 00:56 and hopefully the timepoint of that link starts there (I realise without context the non-dance parts of the clip make no sense. Just enjoy the weirdness). 

Happy birthday Ty, sorry it's a bit late ^^'

* * *

 

When the PR team had first tried selling them on the idea, Andrew had walked out of the room immediately.

The second time he had sat there and listened to the pitch, _then_ walked out.

The third time he just didn’t show up to the meeting.

But then that night, Neil had wriggled his way into Andrew’s lap, all legs and smiles and gentle hands, and said, “Come on, it might be fun.”

And somehow, he had agreed. He was kind of regretting it now.

“And then step, big arms up high, back arched, and circle around each other,” the dance instructor was demonstrating with his partner. They looked ridiculous. The Latin-style music was loud and reflecting off all the surfaces of the dance studio, echoing strangely and putting an ache right in the middle of his brain. Andrew looked to himself in the wall of mirrors – smothered in black, no skin exposed, short and bulky and closed-off with his arms folded. Then he looked to the instructor, who was some kind of campy flamboyant version of Nicky dialled up to eleven, all elaborate gestures and big smiles and perfect hair and teeth, his shirt unbuttoned to his stomach. His partner was a fierce-looking woman in a floaty skirt that billowed around her when she spun, flashing off her legs and the dance shorts covering her underwear.

This was not his thing.

He glanced to Neil standing beside him, dressed in his usual gym clothes and chewing his lip a little. He didn’t exactly look enthusiastic, but he was paying attention, his arms and legs twitching a little as he watched the demonstration, the same as when he watched Exy plays on TV.

“Do you think you’re ready to try the first sequence?” The instructor beamed.

Andrew looked back to the unsubtle camera crew in the corner filming everything and balled his hands into fists.

“Just forget the cameras are there sugar,” the instructor gushed at him some more. “I’ve worked with the director before on other dance competition shows and they won’t bother us during training.”

“Don’t call me sugar,” Andrew said tonelessly. The man didn’t blink and just said _alright_.

“What’s wrong?” Neil asked him, turning his body to block the cameras a bit.

“What exactly led to the decision for us to do these steps?” Andrew asked the instructor instead. “The paso doble?”

“Well, it was written into the script, it was picked out by the showrunners for you,” the man replied. “The other couples have other dance routines picked out for them – tango, foxtrot, waltz, that kind of thing. I was assigned to you guys, so that’s what we’re doing.”

“Is it because of the stupid ‘Minyard-Josten rivalry’ thing?” Andrew asked, with as much disdain as he could muster.

“Probably so,” the instructor shrugged.

Andrew rolled his eyes and Neil gently took his hand, unballing the tight fist of his knuckles and squeezing his fingers. “That whole thing was a complete misunderstanding,” Neil told the instructor. “We’ve been together since my first year at college, there was never anything of the kind. It was one offhand remark meant as a joke between friends that got blown out of proportion and the press won’t let go of it.”

The instructor blinked at them in surprise; no doubt he’d been given a vague press release on them both before meeting them, which was sure to have been heavy with all the crap people had invented about them over the years.

“This whole thing – this big, showy performance thing. It’s not what we do, it’s not how we live. It’s not us,” Andrew muttered, frowning at the floor. “And I’m not going to pretend like it is. And giving Neil the woman’s role is incredibly insulting.”

“I don’t mind following,” Neil shrugged. “I know you’d be more comfortable leading anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” Andrew said, though he squeezed Neil’s hand back. He turned to the instructor. “We aren’t a straight couple. And I’d hope that you’re aware it’s a huge issue for same-gender couples, _which one is the man, which one is the woman._ The answer is neither. We’re partners, we’re equals, we support each other. And since coming out last month the press and public have been nothing but intrusive and nosy and awful about it. We actually got asked which of us tops at an interview after the last game of the season, for fuck’s sake. It’s not anyone’s business—” he cut himself off to take a few deep breaths, Neil gently stroking his hand. “And then this request to take part in this show, where every other celebrity couple is straight. You have to see what I’m getting at, here.”

“Oh, I hear you,” The instructor said, looking a little sad and thoughtful, tapping his cheek with his fingers. “Okay, let’s sit down and talk about the steps, gents. Katya, could you give us a couple minutes? And take the camera crew out?”

Once it was the three of them, they sat down on the hard, shiny floor.

“You don’t want this to be a gimmick or a stunt, is that what you’re saying?” The instructor asked. “You don’t want it to be this big awkward publicity thing with homophobic intentions?”

Neil nodded and said quietly, “And neither of us want to do something… performative. I spent enough time pretending to be fake people before I could be myself.” He paused and smiled gently at Andrew. “And we’ve both spent a long time having to pretend we don’t care about each other.”

The instructor looked between them both, smiling to himself. “How sweet. Well I already know you’re both very private people, and I can only imagine the contractual pressure is what made you both agree to this show.”

They both nodded, and he accepted it with a light shrug. “That’s fair. After all, if you wanted to be professional dancers I’d imagine you would be already. But even though dance is about a performance, at the end of the day, it doesn’t have to be untrue. Tell me about yourselves, gents, and let’s see if we can find a more suitable routine for you.”

***

“This feels silly,” Andrew muttered as they walked slowly through the new steps later that day, posing as he had been told with his back arched and shoulders thrown back. The camera crew was back, and he felt rather stupid posturing and prancing for them.

“A bit,” Neil grinned, snapping his own arms down and stepping forward, one hip thrust out. “Looks good on you, though.”

The instructor had heard him and laughed, clapping his hands. “True! Man, I wish I had athletes to work with all the time, you guys already have the physical strength and flexibility for pretty much all this, you know how to use your bodies.”

“You should see Neil doing yoga, it’s terrifying,” Andrew commented, and Neil laughed. “I keep thinking he’s going to snap something.”

“Excuse you, what about your resistance routine? Those weights are taller than you.”

The instructor laughed again. “Okay, let’s go at the tempo of the music, just a run through. Don’t worry if you fumble the steps for now, let’s just work on the pacing.”

“Hey,” Neil murmured as they stepped closer for the starting position, “If you feel too silly, look at me. Ignore everything else and just focus on me.”

And Andrew found that when he ignored all the reasons why they were doing this, all the reasons it made him so uncomfortable, all the distractions like the camera crew and the instructor… it was pretty special, to be dancing with Neil. To twirl him about, circle each other, to just barely touch and then whirl into intricate closeness as the tempo increased. To trust each other not to step wrong or collide or to drop or unbalance each other. To lean fully into the momentum and trust their grip wouldn’t slip, that they would hold each other up and keep each other close. It felt pretty familiar.

“Amazing!” The instructor crowed when they were done. “That attention, that focus on each other, that’s exactly what I want you to do in the performance. Now there were a few exchanges that need to be cleaned up…”

Neil grinned at him as they listened and reset to start again, and Andrew quickly kissed his cheek when the instructor wasn’t looking.

***

He found Neil practising the steps in the gloom of their living room at two AM a few nights later. He was caught in the doorway by the intent look on Neil’s face, the intense concentration as he held his frame under tension and slowly stepped through his part. Andrew could see the space left in his arms, the right size and shape for Andrew, and knew Neil was imagining dancing with him, and not just practising the steps. He could see the fierce longing in the curve of his arms, the shape of his back, the stretch of his legs, the part of his lips and the close of his eyes. The want, the affection, the intimacy they shared all gloriously spelled out in Neil’s form. And he remembered what the instructor had said, about a performance not needing to be fake, but rather completely revealing.

As Neil turned, he stepped into the space left for him and easily caught Neil up in his arms.

“Oh,” Neil said in surprise, before Andrew was kissing him, heady and passionate. Neil groaned softly into his mouth, folding around him as Andrew picked him up by the thighs, settling them around his waist and holding him tight and close. Then Andrew walked them, slowly so he didn’t drop Neil or overbalance, back to the bedroom, and closed the door with his foot.

***

As they were being fitted for their performance costumes, Neil caught his hand.

“So, do you feel ready for the performance tomorrow?”

Andrew shrugged. They’d been working on the routine all week (they’d been exempted from the desultory off-season training regime) and he was satisfied they could do it. It was the thought of doing it in front of a live studio audience, and cameras, and judges, that was making him twitchy.

He much preferred this routine to the first one – it felt intimate, and passionate, and much more them than the showy, audience-focussed initial steps. But it was still so _honest_ , and Andrew was unused to sharing his real emotions with strangers. He thought if he could dance it privately with Neil in a closed room, he would be more than happy to perform it whenever. If it was just them. But in front of all those people…

Then he looked to Neil, who had been distracted by his tailor. They were both to wear fancy suits with coattails, high-waisted and form-fitted. The suits would be black, with matching silver and gold accents in the piping and shirts and ties. No unnecessary flashing of skin, nothing campy or revealing or pink like had been first suggested ( _we aren’t doing San Francisco Pride_ , Neil had snarked, _we’re just dancing with each other_ ). They’d insisted on something identical, to completely remove any thought that one of them was doing a woman’s part. And Neil looked… he looked beautiful. Andrew could already imagine the dusting of makeup and glitter on his cheeks and eyes and hair on show night that would make him seem almost ethereal. He could imagine spinning Neil about and being spun in return, with flashes of gold and silver like their wedding rings all about them, and the serene blue of Neil’s eyes holding his own.

And he thought that perhaps it was time to show the world that tenderness and passion weren’t mutually exclusive, and that their relationship was founded on more than aggression and raw lust like so many seemed to assume. He thought he would be proud to step out there with Neil, and show everyone how he truly felt, and how deeply he admired and trusted this man.

“I’m ready.”

***

Show night. The live audience was being amped up by the TV host, and a few other celebrity couples had already gone onto the floor. There was a basketball couple, a football couple, an ice hockey couple, a few gymnasts, and a swimming couple. They were the only Exy representatives (Kevin had protested at not being chosen with Thea, but had quieted down when Neil pointed out their team wanted to take advantage of all the publicity surrounding their coming out). They’d endured a few interviews from the camera crew over the course of the week, and Andrew knew it would all be cut together documentary-style for the TV programme, which would air once the final cut was complete. He was already anticipating a sickening amount of attention would be lavished on the ‘hot gossip’ of their surprise relationship.

Well. Hopefully their dance would show everyone what they were really about.

“Hey,” Andrew murmured as he and Neil waited in the wings for their cue. “Would you want to continue with the dance classes after this? Privately?”

Neil blinked at him in shock, all made up and glowing with it. Then he smiled, so soft and warm and gentle. “Maybe. Have you enjoyed it, this week?”

Andrew nodded, and kissed Neil’s fingers briefly. He wanted to kiss his mouth, but thought the makeup people would get in a twist for messing up their work.

“Then I’d like to keep dancing, too,” Neil replied shyly, his eyes shining.

Andrew was about to reply when one of the camera crew hissed for them to get ready, and his attention snapped back to the host, who was getting the audience ready for them.

“And now, I have the great pleasure to announce the next couple for your enjoyment – Mister and Mister Minyard-Josten, of the Boston Bobcats Exy team, dancing the exciting paso doble. Take it away, gents!”

The band struck up the opening notes.

Andrew took a short run and then dashed out onto the dancefloor on his knees, skidding perfectly to the amazement of the crowd, gliding along on the discreet pads sewn into his trousers. He held himself rigid and upright, and slowly tilted his body to turn back on himself, and come to a stop. Holding his posture firm and unyielding, he eased to his feet as Neil strode out to meet him with long, proud strides, a high-stepped gait that was as much challenge as confidence. Andrew moved into a slow, low lunge, head tilted up to Neil and back arched as they took their starting position. He had never minded getting on his knees for Neil, but thought the gesture likely to be taken extremely literally by the audience. Well, it was true anyway.

Neil watched him back just as intently, his body angled away but his head turned down to watch his partner. They waited a beat, then circled their arms up and around as Andrew rose back to his full height, holding each other rigidly apart. A hand on each other’s waist, the other clasped high and tight above their heads.

They began to step around each other to the beat of the drums, turning each other and guiding each other, their focus entirely on the other person. Andrew had noted other couples doing showy moves to the audience and judges, barely looking at their partner, and felt rather smug that he and Neil would be ignoring everyone else completely.

At first Andrew appeared to lead, pushing Neil into a controlled spin by his hips and catching him on the rotation, stepping large circles about each other, moving forward while Neil moved back. But as the tempo began to increase, and the distance between them to close, Neil suddenly stopped and returned the gesture, spinning Andrew under his arm and moving them in a different direction. Andrew could see nothing but the shine of Neil’s eyes and the gleam of his grinning teeth, and together they began to whirl and spin. Soon enough no one could tell who was leading and who was following – they moved together, in perfect symmetry back and forth, making quick circles as they spun and whirled each other about.

Sometimes they spun or stepped away, gaining space, but their bodies were always arched back towards each other, their eyes always locked, their focus always on the longing reach of each other’s hands, stretched taut and wanting. As they danced, Andrew thought of how they had tested each other in those first hostile months, how they had pulled each other close and come to trust each other. He thought of the years they had spent together at PSU, and more recently the ones apart, until they moved back to live with one another permanently. He pivoted back to Neil with his arms held out, remembering the day Neil had signed with the Boston Bobcats, and caught him around the waist in a quick aerial spin, bearing his weight easily while Neil held to his shoulders and extended his legs to the side.

The crowd cheered but Andrew didn’t care. The paso doble might traditionally be symbolic of a matador and bull testing each other, but with Neil the dance was of pure unity, no fight for control, no need for anger. There was only longing, and joy in each reunion from every small parting.

They crossed arms over each other’s shoulders, holding each other’s waist, and made circuits at angles to each other, their bodies close enough to almost but not-quite touch. The tempo was building, their feet were moving fast, and they spun and spun and spun each other in perfect control, a wild but intently focussed circle of movement.

They were moving into the final stages, the brass section of the band going berserk with the fast rhythm. Andrew swayed and turned at Neil’s direction, confidently guided by familiar hands on his waist and back, and did the same in return. And the distance they held each other at became smaller and smaller, the circles narrower, the steps closer, until finally, as the last glorious notes rolled out, they were simply spinning on the spot, pressed tight from shoulder to thigh, arms locked around each other and foreheads touching.

The music stopped but they kept going, slowly losing their momentum, but their gaze never broke from each other’s eyes. They stopped together with a firm step as the trumpet player gave a last, celebratory crescendo, and cupped each other’s cheek in one hand, graceful and tender. Andrew closed his eyes as the audience went mad with cheering and hollering, concentrating on the hot furnace of Neil’s body clinging to his, the panting of their breath.

“We did it,” Neil whispered in his ear, stroking his cheek. “That was amazing. You were amazing. We did it!”

“You were so beautiful,” Andrew murmured back, and kissed his cheek with a gentle press. He knew he would have glitter on his lips and knew the cameras would love that, but he didn’t care. Neil made a soft, vulnerable noise and stroked through Andrew’s hair in reply, struck dumb for once in his life.

The show host was coming over to them, babbling some nonsense, so they reluctantly stepped apart. They kept an arm around each other as they were steered to stand in front of the judges who were giving them a standing ovation along with most of the audience.

They were rhapsodic, though Andrew listened to very little of their comments and the occasional cringey gay joke. He was focussed on Neil’s arm draped around his waist, and the delicate stroke of a thumb against his side. He didn’t care what these judges thought of their dance or whether they had won this silly show (Neil afterwards informed him they’d got second place behind a boring straight couple who’d done a ‘super sensual’ tango, apparently. Neil thought they’d been robbed, and complained about it right until Andrew got on his knees for real). He was just happy that he had got the opportunity to dance with Neil, and to show something honest and personal to the world about him, them, and their life.

***

A week later, and Neil came charging home with a box in his hands. “Andrew! My dancing shoes arrived!”

“About time, the class starts in three hours,” Andrew said from the bedroom, where he was picking out an outfit for the class.

Neil leaned over his shoulder as he ripped open the shoebox. “The blue shirt,” Neil suggested. “It’ll match my one.”

Andrew hummed acknowledgement and plucked it off the hanger.

“The show will be airing about an hour after we get home tonight,” Neil said, pulling on the shiny black dance shoes to break them in. “Do you want to watch it later?”

“Sure.”

“Great, you can massage my feet while we watch,” Neil grinned and jogged on the spot in his new shoes.

“I will do no such thing.”

“You will if I ask nicely,” Neil teased, strutting up to him with a gleam in his eyes.

Andrew caught him by the waist and spun him into a dip, holding him securely as Neil yelped in surprise and threw his arms around Andrew’s neck. “You’d better,” Andrew said, and kissed him with all the affection he could bring to bear, tender and slow.

When Andrew lifted him back to upright, Neil kept his arms around Andrew’s neck and stayed close. “We could always practice a few steps before we go,” he suggested, kissing absently over Andrew’s cheek.

“Like what?”

In reply, Neil folded Andrew’s arms around him, like they had in the closing steps of their dance on the show, and rested his forehead on Andrew’s. “Like this.”

Andrew was more than content to hold him, and be held, for the rest of their lives. 


End file.
